


Way Down We Go

by kee_writestrashh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 3rd person pov, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Manipulation, Paranoia, Part 2, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Reader is a Stark, Request Fill, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee_writestrashh/pseuds/kee_writestrashh
Summary: Can I ask for a sequel to “Outside In”?? [author's note: if you have yet to read Outside In, you should, or this second installment will make no sense.]





	Way Down We Go

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/0-7IHOXkiV8
> 
> Father tell me, we get what we deserve  
> Oh we get what we deserve  
> And way down we go  
> Way down we go  
> Say way down we go  
> Way down we go  
> You let your feet run wild  
> Time has come as we all oh, go down  
> Yeah but for the fall oh, my  
> Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

“My lady, are you alright?”

(Y/N) looked up into the mirror and peered curiously at her handmaiden, Alys. She gave a wan smile. “I don’t understand your question.”

Alys shrugged and turned back to brushing (Y/N)’s hair. “Forgive me, my lady. You just seem, very quiet.”

(Y/N) Turned her eyes to her reflection in the cold mirror, eyes dancing over the bruise on her cheek. Her mind full of the things she had seen in the godswood. Things that were meant to be private to her lord husband and the gods neither of them believed in. She had laid there under the heavy furs for hours thinking about it. A plan worthy of Ramsay himself forming in the back of her mind. All she needed was the wolf blood to bring her the confidence to execute what she had in there.

In its simplest form:  _manipulation_.

That’s all there was to it. Just like his father had done to him his entire life. Manipulate the monster and he will do your bidding. If Damon had done anything to help (Y/N), it was taking her to see Ramsay in his vulnerability. Though, Damon may not have realized the danger he had just subjected his mater too. He simply wanted her to see that Ramsay Bolton was human. But what she saw? She saw opportunity. Opportunity to put a leash on the mad dog. Kick him while he’s down.

“Do you know where Lord Bolton is?” She asked suddenly.

“I think he went out hunting, my lady. He left with a group before day break.” Alys said, setting the brush down and continuing with her braiding. (Y/N) said nothing else, but stared straight ahead of her at the mirror. She never knew what to expect when people said Lord Bolton was out ‘hunting’. What was the prey? The idea made her shudder. However, she was resolute in what she was going to do. Once Alys had finished braiding her hair, (Y/N) dressed and sat in silence for awhile. She wasn’t sure if she was able to leave her room, as Ramsay had so kindly taken away her ‘wandering privileges’ again.

But the time alone gave her ample opportunity it decide how best to go about getting under her husband’s skin. Pacing relentlessly in her room, chewing her bottom lip when suddenly…

“Affection.” She said aloud, with almost a scoff. Of course. How could she not see it before?

But she needed more, more than just affection. “Paranoia.” She added in a whisper she could hardly hear from herself. The sound of the door opening made her gasp and turn quickly in surprise. And there stood Ramsay.

(Y/N) gave a hurried curtsy. “M-My Lord. You startled me.” She said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

Ramsay tutted, “You are just a scared little mouse, my lady.”

“Forgive me.” (Y/N) whispered.

“I heard tell you were asking my whereabouts.” He said, almost accusatory.

“I had questioned where you were.” She nodded, looking up at the man before her.

He raised a brow and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

The honest answer was that she wasn’t sure. She had only been thinking about him and what she had seen, and just wondered where he was. That, however was not a satisfactory answer. And he need never know that she saw his moment of weakness in the godswood. She looked at him and then did something even she hadn’t prepared herself for. She closed the space between them, took his cold face between her warm hands, and pressed her lips to his. The silence that followed seemed to last for a lifetime when she pulled away from him and dropped her hands, fingers lacing in front of her as she took half a step back, not looking at him.

The surprise and being caught off guard was written all over Ramsay’s face and it took him many more moments to finally manage words as he worked his mouth a couple times only to snap his mouth shut again.

He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, “I, uh… Thought we would dine together tonight in the hall. The hunt was very bountiful this morning.”

“Of course, my lord.” (Y/N) said, chancing a glance at her husband and biting back the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of her lips. How taken aback and confused he was.

 

And that was how it went for many days. She showed him affection in the smallest of ways. Never bold enough to attempt to kiss him again; but she was kind in her tone and built him up slowly with small praises here and there. It had caught the attention of many of the servants, who whispered between work about the Lady of Winterfell. How she went out of her way to show kindness to the man who abused her.

But more than catching the undivided attention of the servants, (Y/N) let smugness settle in about how unsure Ramsay was still. Almost like he was the one avoiding her, and no longer the other way around. He hadn’t even attempted to force himself on her, or anyone as far as she had heard. And that in, and of itself, made her realize, (Y/N) of House Stark, Lady Bolton, and whatever useless titles she held, held power over that flayed man.

While her husband had never officially taken back his orders of her being locked in her room, (Y/N) left her chambers many times without any kind of punishment after the kiss she had placed to Ramsay’s lips. She was growing more bold in the things she did. Which led her to where she was now; slowly making her way down the cold, stones steps into the dungeons bellow the main part of the castle. The sounds of pain and agony greeting her ears long before she saw the mess with her eyes. The smell was always overwhelming and unpleasant. Though, she supposed after spending most of your life doing such things, one would become accustomed to such horrid smells. It always burnt the back of her throat and made her eyes water. The metallic smell, lingering on her tongue with every swallow.

Ramsay turned when he heard her boots meet the floor from the stairs. He tilted his head slightly, eyes sparkling in chaos, wicked grin creeping up his pale face. “My dear lady wife, what a pleasant surprise.” He said gently, unnervingly.

She greeted him with a warm smile however, and gave a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

“Come, sit, sit. I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh?” She questioned, taking to the stool he had motioned to.

He nodded fervently, cold eyes never leaving hers. “Oh aye. See, the moon is about to turn. And unless it has somehow slipped the maester’s mind, you are still without child.”

She swallowed hard, but held her impassive gaze. “This is true, my lord. Though, you have not bedded me in sometime. Since… the death of your father you have visited my body only once. It can hardly be my fault this moon turn for that.” Her voice remained light and kind, and she gave him a gentle smile and blinked innocently at him.

His manic grin faltered, and he turned on his heel quickly from her. And she knew, it was now or never.

She stood from the stool, summoning all of the courage a wolf cunning she possessed. Another hard swallow crossing the space and placing a delicate hand on Ramsay’s shoulder. He stood rooted to the spot, unsure what to do. In the last few days this mad woman had shown him more kindness than anyone else ever had. He said nothing, staring at his bleeding, mutilated victim.

“It’s okay, my lord. If it takes us awhile to have a child.” She cooed softly, fingertips dancing up the top of his shoulder and brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck. “Your father said not to rush such things.” She added in a lie.

Ramsay pulled away from her and narrowed his eyes at her. “And how do you know what my father expected?” He snapped coldly.

Still, (Y/N) wore a kind smile. “I spoke with him many times, my lord. How he wanted you to uphold the honor of House Bolton. How he hoped for many beautiful, _legitimate_ grandchildren.”

“Stop.” Ramsay hissed, a shadow crossing his face as he bared his teeth.

“Of course, my lord.” (Y/N) half whispered with a small bow, turning on her heel and leaving the dungeon, coy smile on her face as she re-emerged to the life and bustle of the castle. She had sprinkled in her manipulation. Saw the uncertainty in Ramsay’s eyes. And all it took was the mentioning of his lord father.

As she walked down the hall she passed Damon. “Walk with me?” She said, heading to the kitchens.

“Of course, my lady.” He said, falling into step with her.

“How long have you known Lord Ramsay?” She asked, watching the snow falling as they passed windows down the hall.

“Many years now, my lady. I was raised within the walls of the Dreadfort. My father was a Bolton man at arms picked personally by Lord Roose in the days of Robert’s Rebellion.” Damon said, also watching the snow and wondering where this conversation was leading.

“Then you knew, Domeric Bolton?” She pressed, giving a sigh of content as the smells of fresh baking bread greeted them as they rounded a corner.

“Aye, my lady.” Damon said with a nod, watching (Y/N) take a bread from a basket as they entered the kitchen. She broke the small loaf in half and offered the spare half to Damon. The kitchen servants bustling around and minding their own business; one sliding a pitcher of honeyed milk toward (Y/N) as she leaned against a table, another servant bringing a goblet.

“I hide here a lot when the Lord is in a mood. For some reason he never comes to find me here.” She said, tearing a piece of the bread and then pouring the milk into the goblet.

“Interesting. Ramsay loves his cakes and sweets. It’s a wonder he wouldn’t check here.” Damon said, tearing his own bread.

She eyed the man closely, still unsure how it was he was a part of Ramsay’s inner circle. The others, like the one they called Yellow Dick, you understood. He was as big and broad as he was mean and stupid. But, Damon was of a different kind of breed. Where Ramsay went, he followed. She had witnessed his violence and aggression, but he didn’t act on it anymore than was required of him from his lord. He was even kind to the servants on the castle. She knew he was particularly friendly with Alys, but she never spoke ill about him.

“So, was Domeric the perfect little lord as they all claimed?” (Y/N) asked as casually as was possible with such an awkward kind of conversation.

Damon shrugged, “Lords are lords, and Boltons are Boltons.” He paused and then gave you his usual wan smile. “But he was kindhearted.”

“Did Ramsay kill him?” She asked bluntly, aware that every ear around was listening in.

Damon chewed his lip, staring at the bread in his hand. The silence stretched on for many long moments. “As to that, my lady, I cannot answer. I do not know. Domeric was always a sickly child. He had visited Ramsay many times at his mother’s home before he finally came home and fell very ill. But as to what happened there… I do not know. Some say he was poisoned. But let me ask you this, does Ramsay seem the type to use poison?”

(Y/N) picked up her goblet and swirled the contents a couple times. The answer was no. Ramsay was too wild to use something as subtle and unrewarding as poison. Perhaps his mother… “What was his mother like?”

“An evil woman. And that’s all that Ramsay says on the matter. And that should be good enough for you. Keep asking questions and he will makes skin cloaks from both of us.” Damon said, his tone set. And she knew not to press. While Damon was friendly with her, she knew in the end, he was Ramsay’s man.

 

Ramsay did not appear in the hall for sup, and so (Y/N) took it upon herself to force her presence on him. She had a tray loaded with cakes and wine, the servant following in her wake as they searched for Ramsay, before finding him alone in the council chambers. He sat, facing the fire, and staring into it as if were some interesting kind of entertainment. (Y/N) took the tray from the servant and silently dismissed her, placing the tray on the table quietly she cleared her throat.

Ramsay slowly turned his eyes to her, and then his eyes fell on the tray. He then looked back at her but said nothing.

“Forgive me, my lord. It’s just… You didn’t come to sup.”

“What are you doing?” he asked coldly.

She raised a brow and gave him another blank, innocent look. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord? I just thought you would like some cakes. I often sneak them from the kitchens throughout the day. Almost like I cannot resist them.” She gave a quiet giggle, covering her mouth daintily with her hand. “It’s a wonder I’m not as round as Walda was.”

Ramsay gave a snort, the shadow of a grin flitting across his face before the same cold mask returned. “You know what I mean, (Y/N). Whatever it is you’re doing.” He said motioning at you and then the tray.

“Well, I’m not trying to _poison_ you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” She shrugged, taking a cake from the tray and stuffing it whole in her mouth, washing it down with a gulp from the goblet of wine. “I am only trying to do my duty to my lord husband, as I have been instructed to do all my life. Is that a crime?”

Ramsay leaned back in his seat, his cold, icy eyes searching all of her. As if searching for her soul. And it was then that she realized, Ramsay was just a frightened young man. Full of hate, rage, and deep insecurities. Again, that nagging in the back of her mind telling her to keep on. That it was the right thing to do.

She set the goblet down, hands clasping together in front of her, head dropping to stare at his boots. “Ramsay…” She began in hardly an octave above a whisper. “I am sorry for the way your life has gone. That no one ever loved you the way you deserved. No, deserve.”

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits and he rose suddenly from his chair, hand grabbing her face and forcing her head up to look at him.

“That’s what this is, is it? Think you can play games with me? Get in my head?” He hissed. (Y/N) said nothing, only staring at him, heart pounding hard in her chest as fear of his unpredictability set in. She didn’t have to say anything though, he just set himself up for failure. His paranoia and insecurities had already made him lose. She was already in his head, and she would dig her way in so much deeper. He was just as breakable as those he broke in the dungeon on that atrocious wooden cross.

“Never my lord. I was only trying to be a good wife. You’ve not been yourself recently. Since the death of your father. And I thought that maybe--”

“Maybe what?” Ramsay snapped, grip tightening on her face. A wild madness behind those shards of ice in his head. “You thought you could pity me, like I was some common peasant?” He released her face and pushed her aside. He stormed from the room, slamming the heavy door behind him.

(Y/N) smiled at the door, picking up another cake and taking a satisfying bite. “You’re mine, Ramsay Bolton. Just a scared little boy trying to play a man’s game.” She chuckled, taking another drink from the goblet.

**Author's Note:**

> Need something? Want something? Got to have something? Catch me on tumblr @kee-writestrashh


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